Sincerely,
by creatoriginsane
Summary: "Will you marry me?" She had always been better than him when it came to words. Claudia and Cattleya, before, during, and after.
1. Chapter 1

**Sincerely,**

A/N: I will ship this until I die, thanks. I have work tomorrow and I'm honestly just writing whatever came into mind. I have no idea of the what the original novel contains (but I do know that this ship isn't canon, so...

I'm taking my liberties with this story. Thanks, all.

* * *

 _"Will you marry me?"_ _She had always been better than him when it came to words._

 _(Claudia and Cattleya, before, during, and after.)_

* * *

Cattleya is a dancer.

Other people would tell you that she _was_ , but Claudia Hodgins would say otherwise.

He would even correct you under his breath, cheeks lit with a rouge tint that would rival any woman's.

 _"_ _Cattelya Baudelaire is a great dancer."_

So is that why they're in a dimly lit pub on a Thursday night?

They're sitting beside each other at the bar, miraculously the only customers at this hour, their eyes downcast and lips wet with alcohol. There is a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand, and the bottle is in between hers. She glances at his face and leans her shoulder ever-so slightly to his.

It's quiet.

His fingers press hard onto the glass. He doesn't look at her.

It's so quiet.

She leans back. Breathes. Spares him a second glance.

It's too quiet.

He doesn't blink. She moves to pluck the glass from his hands...

And then he looks at her, wide-eyed and restless.

Claudia has always known how bright and vibrant and warm and beautiful her eyes are.

But his mouth is taught, pulled at the edges, tired.

Cattleya stops. Her stern expression softens, her hand that reached for the glass now falls on top of his. She pries away his fingers away from the cup and clenches them, rough and warm, in hers.

She always knew what to say, but now she remains quiet.

He knows what she's going to say.

 _"_ _Let's go home, Mr. President."_

He has grown too familiar with that phrase and the tone she uses when she says it–whether she is playful and coy, sour and irritated, or childish and bitter.

But now she is quiet.

And she remains quiet when he brushes a lock of hair out of her face and behind her ear, when he curls his fingers around hers, when he grips a hand on her shoulder and comes in close–

She might know all the words in the world and how to string them together, but now she doesn't know what to say.

And he wonders why she doesn't.

 _"_ _What is it, Cattleya?"_

He's asked her that before, and sometimes he doesn't need to ask her because she would tell him whatever is on her mind, anyway. It's not like she needs to ask permission to say anything.

So why is she so quiet?

And yet...

Her silence seems appropriate.

Her presence feels enough.

She's already so close to him that if he should try, he would be able to–

 _No_.

Cattleya deserves more than that.

So it surprises him when she presses her lips–her soft, soft lips–against his forehead.

And at that moment, he wanted to hold her so tight and never even think of letting go, but he's scared, he's nervous, he doesn't know what to do. Is this how the night is supposed to end?

So he just lets her.

 _"_ _I'm sorry, Cattleya."_

And it's quiet.

Her hands are gentle around his face, nimble fingers pressed against the stubble on his cheek, and her lips are even softer as they trace down from his forehead to the tip of his nose.

And then she laughs, breathy and thoroughly amused, before she pulls away just far enough to see the entirety of his shocked expression. She smiles and slide her hands down to his shoulders to tug him to stand–

"Let's go home, Mr. President."

He nods mutely at her words, lets her lead him out of the bar and into the street, his arm swung over her shoulders. And it's quite the sight to see a woman like her hauling around a man like him as if he were drunk.

"I don't usually spend my nights hauling around men, you know." She says when they exit the pub, "So consider yourself lucky."

His face flushes. He looks away.

She just laughs, all tinkling and loud, and it fills his hears much more than the sound of cars passing by and the distant sound of people chattering amongst themselves.

"I'm not drunk, Cattleya." He tries to pry his arm away from her, but her hold on him tightens.

Claudia has never been a drinker, Cattleya knows that.

Still, who else can haul him around like her?

"And..." She whispers mischievously, "I like the feeling of your arms around me."

She gives him a wicked grin and a flirtatious wink.

And he pulls away from her immediately.

She laughs again.

And it's just...

"Come on." She says, grabbing his hand. "Let's go home."

She pulls and he comes stumbling forward.

She stifles a laugh. "I thought you weren't drunk."

"I'm not." He shakes his head. "Just..."

"Tipsy?" She suggested with a mocking grin.

"No. Whatever." He straightens up. "Let's go."

He moves forward, but stops to stand beside her. She takes the opportunity to lace their fingers together.

He thanks the warm glow of the lamps above them, else she would notice his thoroughly flushed face.

"Okay." She leans her head on his shoulder slightly. "Let's go."

They walk together.

And this how things go, this is how things are.

Claudia knows how great of a dancer Cattleya is, knows how much Cattleya enjoys dancing, knows how much people love seeing her all dolled-up and beautiful on that stage, knows how much people would give just to be with her, knows what people would do if...

Cattleya deserves so much more than this.

Claudia has believed that ever since he met her.

* * *

A/N: Okay. This was supposed to be a one-shot thing that was supposed to be romantic instead of angsty, but there I go writing so much that I have decided on writing a multi-chapter story.

It won't be as long as most, but it's still pretty long? I have a lot of ideas for this ship, so bear with me.

Next chapter's done, so expect it tomorrow.

I think I'm going to have a past/present/non-chronological thing in this story.

...But actually, the main reason I made this into a multi-chap is because I have work tomorrow and I just want to put this out already?

Anyway, feedback is always appreciated. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Sincerely,**

A/N: When I say "tomorrow" I actually mean "a few minutes after I post the first chapter." Anyway, this is done. Now I'll go back to writing and/or revising my other works (but I have a feeling that I'll write more for this first since I'm not over this anime.)

* * *

 _"Will you marry me?" She had always been better than him when it came to words._

 _(Claudia and Cattleya, before, during, and after.)_

* * *

It's snowing.

Music is being blared from within a two-story building. Boisterous laughter and loud cheers echo from within it. Cars are passing by. People are walking. People are talking. Somewhere, a gunshots resound through a battlefield and bombs explode into the night.

But the people of this city, these two people hiding in the dim light in particular, don't care.

She's a dancer. He's a soldier. There's a war being waged far beyond them, but they're leaning against the brick of the back alley, side-by-side with an air of combined animosity and genuine curiosity.

"I'm a dancer, sir. Nothing more."

Cattleya isn't fond of soldiers.

"It's not... I'm not. Jeez."

Claudia isn't a fan of dancers.

And yet they have found themselves here, not quite in the dark, but shrouded in enough mystery to make anyone think of something intimate.

It's quiet between the two of them. He thinks of lighting the borrowed cigarette between his cold fingers, but fumbles with the lighter in his other hand. She thinks of downing the bottle of gin she stole from the bar, but twists the cap back on and off.

"Why are you here?" She snapped without looking at him.

"I'm just..." He sighs. "I just needed some time alone."

"Then go find some place else." She huffs.

He doesn't leave.

"I can't leave you alone."

 _Oh._

She knows his type.

"I can take care of myself."

At that moment, Cattleya dares to take a swig from the bottle, and spits out the drink immediately after.

She has never been that much of a heavy drinker.

"Are you alright?" He asks cautiously.

"Fine."

She raises the bottle to the light. "This tastes like gasoline."

"Oh, it's that brand." He says. "They say it's strong enough to burn a building down."

"Really? You have a lighter don't you?"

He gasps.

She laughs.

Claudia thinks she laughs beautifully.

"I was just joking. Jeez. You soldiers really are the serious type."

He also thinks she has a strange sense of humor.

"I'm not going to drink this. Do you want to have it?" She offers the bottle to him.

"No, I..."

His words are lost to him when he sees her standing in the light, dark hair in a tousled ponytail, striking violet eyes, and face looking so soft...

She's the one the other soldiers were talking about.

"You...?" She smiles slightly, averting her gaze.

She would be lying if she didn't find him attractive, with his bright red hair and his even brighter blue eyes.

"I'm Claudia."

Her face immediately lights up and she laughs. Loudly.

 _Of course._

"Is that really your name?" She says in between laughs.

He sighs. "Unfortunately."

"Well, Claudia..." She says with a wide smile on her face, "My name's Cattleya."

He thinks it's only right that she be named after such a flower.

"So what are you doing here, Cattleya?" He tests her name.

"Well, Claudia," She says in return, a slight hint of a laugh in her voice, "I'm not really one to do well in crowds."

"Ah, I see." He says in reply, "I understand that people can be a bit touchy-feely sometimes and–"

"Oh, no! No!" She is quick exclaim. "It wasn't anything like that."

She pouts very slightly. She doesn't want to say it, but there's a nagging in her head that tells her to do so, and it's the name voice that tells her that this Claudia is a good man, a man like those she has dreamed of when she was younger and when her world was a little smaller.

"I actually..." She hesitates. "I think I broke a man's jaw."

He blinks.

Twice.

"You–you did?"

Of course he doesn't believe her.

"But it was because he was getting a little too close for his own good!" She quickly adds.

He's utterly speechless now.

 _"_ _Oh, dear. Cattleya, what have you done?"_

She bites her lip and leans back to the wall, quietly wishing she would disappear. She ran out of the club in order for things to settle down, and found herself in the company of a strange soldier who has yet to utter his response to what she said.

He could at least ask her if that was true...

"Wow." He breathed out. "I guess I shouldn't get on your bad side, then."

 _Does he actually believe her?_

She's never met a man like him before.

No, wait. _She has._

And she knows how to deal with such men.

"Do you want me to show you how I did it?"

"If that's alright with you."

So she places the bottle on the ground and takes his wrists in her hands, placing them carefully on her waist–and he doesn't move so much as to hold her there, such a gentleman–and then she leans up, almost close enough to...

And then she is quick to move, ducking low and coming up fast with a right hook aimed perfectly for his jaw.

He stops her fist with an open palm, but stumbles back at the surprise of how much strength she has.

But she doesn't stop there. She pulls back and twists away from him, only to knee him in the stomach. He dodges just in time, but she is even faster, quickly kicking his side to send him crashing into the wall.

"Oh, my gosh!" She gasps.

She knew she hit him too hard.

"Are you–I'm sorry, I–"

"Damn." He laughed as he pushed himself off the wall. "I knew I shouldn't have said yes."

 _Why is he smiling?_

Forget about what she said earlier.

She has never met a man like him before.

"You have a terrifying punch, Cattleya." He says, rubbing his cheek. "A really strong kick, too."

She can't help but blush a little at his words.

"Ever thought of being a soldier?"

 _How rude to say to a woman of her charm._

So she punches his shoulder as a reply.

"Hey!"

"Me? A soldier?" She pouts. "Never."

But then he's smiling.

And she's smiling, too.

"Yeah." He says intently. "It wouldn't be the life for a woman like you."

She narrows her eyes at him. "And what would be the life for a woman like me?"

And he says after a beat, "Something better than all of this, I think."

Her heart can't help but beat a little faster at those words.

 _"_ _A life better than all of this?"_

She ran away from home and became a dancer at the hope of a better life.

How is it that there is this would-be-knight-in-shining-armor in front of her, telling her that there is a better life than what she already has? She might have dreamed of big mansions with marble floors, seven-course dinners and lively music, silken gowns and ruby earrings, but she was younger then.

A woman like her could only hope to have such things, which is why a woman like Cattleya Baudelaire is content.

She doesn't need any of those things to live a life.

So why has this soldier told her such a thing?

* * *

A/N: There you have it. Coming up, me trying to update my other stories while quietly begging for the fandom to support this ship.


End file.
